


You're So Fine (And You're Mine)

by kathierif_fic



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: satedan_grabass, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 09:14:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4429724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathierif_fic/pseuds/kathierif_fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ronon writes a letter, and John reads it...</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're So Fine (And You're Mine)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wings128](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wings128/gifts).



> Written for the 2015 round of satedan_grabass on LJ. 
> 
> Prompts used were: On the advice of his and Teyla's English tutor, Ronon declares his feelings for John in a letter. Somehow John ends up reading it and...first time. 
> 
> and: 
> 
> Jumper!sex - first time.
> 
> Beta, Cheerleading and Handholding by Ginny - Thank you!

He found the piece of paper in the pocket of his pants.

Folded three times, the lines pressed sharply into paper that was soft enough to indicate that it had been repeatedly folded and unfolded, as if whoever had placed it hadn't been sure about the contents of the message and had checked it a few times over before putting it into his pocket.

It was a letter, albeit an unconventional one. 

When he'd pushed his hands into his pockets to encounter the crisp edge of paper, a piece of paper he was very sure he hadn't put there, he'd first thought that it was the Atlantis equivalent of a shopping list - a carelessly scribbled note, placed somewhere to remind someone of something. Maybe a hastily constructed formula from one of the scientists; maybe something he had, against all habit, picked up in one of the labs.

He unfolded it to find out where it came from, and immediately discarded the idea of it being just a note. 

The letter was written in English, or, to put it more exactly, it wasn't just written, the letters were carefully drawn. It looked more like a piece of art than a means of communication, that much was certain, and the tiny ornamental bows and arcs decorating the individual capitals made it a little difficult to decipher it.

John frowned as his eyes took in the words.

It started off with his name, and John took that as permission to continue reading, but it took him only a few seconds to feel the blood shoot hotly into his ears and cheeks, making him blush a dark and furious shade of red as his eyes raced along the lines, taking in word after word and yet feeling as if he understood only half of them. The small part of his brain that wasn't completely captured by the letter nudged at him, reminding him that he was standing in the middle of a hallway, and that the probability of someone walking into him and asking him why he was blushing was relatively high.

And yet, he could not stop himself from reading and re-reading the letter, again and again.

_John,_ the letter read, _I want to fuck you._

Underneath, in smaller letters, it also said, _Stephen said we should practice writing a letter, telling someone our feelings. Teyla thinks it's a good idea._

An ice cold feeling ran down John's spine, suffocating everything else he was feeling and leaving him numb and frozen in place.

He knew exactly who had written him this letter, and the content of the letter blindsided him - he'd never noticed Ronon being interested in him. And yet, there was no doubt whatsoever that Ronon had been the one to write the letter.

After a Stargate malfunction, Ronon and Teyla had agreed that it would be more than a disadvantage if something like that happened again and the team got caught off-world, the translator program implemented by the Gate not working anymore. The two days on Atlantis, where they could communicate only by handsigns and dialects of Ancient that both Teyla and Ronon spoke more or less, had been complicated enough.

It had been Teyla who had approached John, and later Mr. Woolsey, with the request to learn the English language, un-aided by the Stargate's technology, both the written and the spoken form. Stephen was one of the linguists who had arrived on Atlantis with the Daedalus' last trip to Pegasus, and he had agreed to teach them Earth languages in exchange for their knowledge about the dialects and languages of the Pegasus galaxy.

So there was no doubt whatsoever about who had written the letter, and, related to that, how it had ended up in John's pocket. Ronon was sneaky enough to have put it in there unnoticed by John.

John exhaled shakily, the letter crumbling between suddenly sweaty fingers. 

He had absolutely no idea how to react to Ronon's bold confession - his first instinct, he knew, should've been to reject it out of hand, without hesitation, citing the regulations and the fact that he wasn't interested in other men, particularly members of his team. They were closer than family, after all.

And yet.

John was honest enough with himself to admit, albeit only in the privacy of his mind, that his real first reaction had been interest and the hot flush of arousal, prickling under his skin and filling his cock. The offer had been tempting even before he'd realized who had written the letter, and now, with the first shock about Ronon's interest lessening, the interest was back, his cock a more noticeable weight in his pants than it had been just moments ago.

He swallowed dryly, re-folded the letter and put it back into his pocket. He would decide later about what to do, he thought as he straightened his shoulders and ran a hand haphazardly through his hair. He had been lucky enough for this moment of privacy; the longer he lingered here, the more likely it was that someone stumbled upon him and his little dilemma. Plus, he had reports to write and rosters to organize. It would give him enough time to ponder the situation and find an appropriate answer for Ronon.

~~

He wasn't proud of it, but he did what he could to evade Ronon for the next few days while he tried to find a solution to his problem. 

There was no way he could look the other man in the eye right now, he thought while busying himself in various parts of the city, far away from where he knew Ronon spent most of his downtime. He was barely able to look himself in the eye, which made shaving an adventure every morning. And yes, he was very aware that things couldn't go on like this. He needed to be able to work with Ronon. This problem needed to be gone by the time their team was supposed to go off-world again. 

For the moment, no missions were scheduled, and John allowed himself to take the coward's way. He wasn't proud of it, but at the same time, he was unable to do something about the situation.

Ronon was an attractive man. There was no doubt about it. John had seen enough of his body while on missions and while sparring to have a pretty exact idea of how Ronon looked with his clothes off. He had never paid much attention to his teammates, of course, not even Teyla. And yet he had no problems conjuring up Ronon's body, the cut of his muscles and the play of sinew under his skin, when he was in the shower, hand wrapped around his aching hard dick, or when he was in bed, the moment before falling asleep, when he allowed his thoughts to wander.

Somehow, he was not very surprised that most nights, his thoughts chose to wander to his teammate, wondering about the letter and about Ronon's motivation in writing it. 

Was the other man just looking for a little bit of fun? Was it some kind of bet? John knew that Ronon sometimes liked to hang out with the Marines, and he had a pretty good idea about the atmosphere among his men.

He had never noticed Ronon look at him, but then, he never noticed these things and he was sure, if he went to Teyla to talk about the situation, she would be able to shed some light on the whole situation.

Teyla would have noticed if Ronon looked at him. She would not mock him if he went to her and asked her, but calmly tell him her opinion. John was pretty sure that Ronon went to Teyla as well if he needed to talk something through. Teyla was great as a sounding board for all kinds of problems.

But what if Ronon had not talked to Teyla about this? What if this was really just a mood striking - a test, to see how John would react to the offer?

At that point, John realized that his thoughts were going in circles; circles that became more and more absurd with every pass. The next thing his brain would suggest, he was sure, was talking to Rodney about it.

The thought brought the hint of a smile to his face - he was pretty sure that Rodney didn't want anything to do with John's sex life. And if Rodney knew anything about Ronon's letter, he would have given John some kind of hint about it. Rodney was terrible at keeping secrets, unless it really counted. But since this was not a life or death situation, John couldn't imagine Rodney keeping his mouth shut.

It started to keep him up at night, dick half-interested and distracting him from thinking the situation through in a rational fashion. Whenever he took himself in hand, his thoughts strayed to Ronon, no matter how much he tried to force himself to think about something else, and when he finally allowed himself to give in, to imagine Ronon spreading him out and taking him, or Ronon sprawled out underneath him, he couldn't help but feel bad about it afterwards.

The mission to take out the jumper and pick up samples of grain came like a godsend: the opportunity to get away from Atlantis, from the well-trod paths of his mind, and maybe look at the situation from a distance.

When Woolsey asked him to take this mission himself, John gladly and hastily accepted.

~~

The second he saw Ronon leaning against the jumper, he almost turned on his heel and fled back to his office - or his room - but he quickly regained control over himself and his muscles. Straightening a little, he continued on his way as if nothing had happened.

Ronon fell in step with him without saying a single word, his hands buried deep in his pockets, and claimed the co-pilot's seat while John went through his pre-flight checks and routines. 

Under normal circumstances, they both could spend hours in quiet, just enjoying each other's company, but right now, the silence seemed to grow more and more oppressive with every single second they were together. Still, there was no way John could break the silence first. What was he supposed to say? He still didn't know how to react to the letter, and it turned out that just ignoring it was not an option at all.

Something needed to be done about the situation.

He gave himself until the Jumper was on course to their destination, planning to breach the topic then. They would be alone then, out of Atlantis' sensors, and could talk about it calmly and rationally, like two adults.

Like two friends.

As soon as the Spacegate closed behind them and John had set the course, Ronon shifted in his seat, apparently fed up with the silence and determined to do something about it.

"You read my letter."

It wasn't a question, John thought before exhaling slowly. "What makes you think so?"

Ronon snorted, as if the question was an insult to his intelligence. In a way, it was, John realized, and he bit the inside of his cheek until the coppery tang of blood filled his mouth. Here he was, the conversation they needed to have barely started, and he was already ruining it. There was only one thing he could do now, to get out of this with at least some of his self esteem intact: He had to tell Ronon, clearly and without a single hint of doubt, that he was honored by the offer, but it went against every single rule and regulation John tried to respect. There simply was no way he could accept the offer.

"If you hadn't read it, you wouldn't be this awkward. If you'd read it and didn't want to, you would've come straight to me and told me about all your stupid rules. So you've read my letter and you want it. You just don't want to admit it yet."

John swallowed hard. Everything Ronon had said was true, up to the point where John suddenly really wanted to get on his knees and find out how Ronon tasted.

"Why do you make it so hard?" Ronon wondered. His voice had dropped into a deeper register, and his eyes were pinning John in place. It was as if they went through him like a hot knife through butter, exposing John's innermost thoughts and feelings to Ronon's analytical gaze. "You want to be forced, that it?"

John mutely shook his head. No, he did not want to be forced, even if it gave him the perfect excuse. Ronon could easily overpower him, could pin him in place and make John take it, but that was not what made his heartbeat pick up.

If Ronon forced himself on him - even if John was willing and just not able to admit to it - it would not be what Ronon wanted, he was sure. He would take the blame, would give John the excuse, to give John what he wanted, but it would not be the same.

No. John shook his head again. If they did this, they would do it because he decided to throw all his reservations over board and because they both wanted it. 

They would do it because he said yes and not because he just didn't say no loud enough.

Ronon was still watching him, and John licked his lips. 

"It's dangerous," he managed to say.

Ronon smirked, as if he'd expected John to say it, and was now mocking him. 

"You fight the Wraith, but this is dangerous?" he asked, and John knew that Ronon misunderstood him on purpose, that Ronon knew about Earth morals and that John was not talking about that kind of danger.

"Nobody needs to know," Ronon added before John could express the sudden flash of anger he felt. "Could be just between us. Or the team. Up to you, really." He stretched his arms over his head in a display of nonchalance. His shirt rode up to expose a thin stripe of bronze skin, and John's eyes were drawn there without his conscious decision.

Ronon's smirk widened into a grin, and he reached out with one long arm and placed his hand on John's forearm.

It was as if the simple touch kept John frozen in place, but it also felt right and settled something deep in John. Ronon not touching him was unusual, he realized, even if it usually was a lot more subtle than this. Ronon brushed past him, he touched him when they were sparring, he pushed his elbow against John's when they were running, when they were standing next to each other. 

His hand was warm, hot even, where it rested against his bare skin, and his thumb brushed in soothing circles against the soft underside of his arm.

John shuddered and allowed himself to go boneless in his seat.

"Still need an answer from you," Ronon murmured while shifting, caressing the inside of John's elbow now. "You want this, or not?"

"Yeah," he breathed out. There was no other option for him anymore. All the doubts that had plagued him in the long days and weeks since he'd read the letter disappeared from his brain, leaving behind only the urgent need to touch Ronon.

He wasn't the only one. As soon as the word left John's lips, Ronon had hauled him out of the pilot's seat and into his lap. John went with an awkward squeak he would deny to his death and with his arms flailing wildly, feet kicking out and his elbow hitting Ronon in the solar plexus.

Ronon didn't seem to notice. He had both arms wrapped around John's middle, anchoring him, and was seeking out his mouth for a kiss.

Their first kiss.

Their lips met, and the sensation of Ronon's mouth against his, the coarse brush of his beard against John's face made John's toes curl in his boots.

He made a sound of protest deep in his throat and twisted inelegantly, until he was straddling Ronon, his legs dangling over the armrests of the copilot's chair, his hands framing Ronon's face and holding him in place while he was deepening the kiss, his tongue pushing into Ronon's mouth and meeting his, hot and slick and perfect.

Ronon was content with letting John lead the kiss, but his hands pushed up under his shirt and tac vest, fingertips brushing against John's skin and making him shiver. 

"Off," Ronon growled, and the sound sent another shiver along the entire length of John's spine and made arousal curl, hot and liquid, in his stomach. His cock ached against the confines of his pants, and he pushed his entire body against Ronon's, seeking friction and relief for the fire Ronon's mouth and his hands had started.

Ronon allowed John's clumsy movements for a moment, but then his hands settled firmly on John's hips and stilled him.

"Can I fuck you?" he asked bluntly, his thumbs rubbing circles in John's skin again. "You'll like it."

John snorted a laugh at that. "Yeah," he said shakily. "Yeah, you can. Do it."

Ronon kissed him again, easily taking control and wrapping one hand into John's hair.

"Been dreaming about this," he admitted once the kiss had ended. "Wanted you from the first day." He used his grip on John's hair to tug his head back and bite along his throat. His lips felt cool against John's overheated skin, and the sharp touch of his teeth made his breath hitch slightly. As much as John tried to play it cool and keep his body's reactions down, Ronon instinctively seemed to know how hard to bite, how softly to breathe against John's skin afterwards, to make hot and cold shudders run along John's spine.

The Jumper's controls beeped quietly, and John hissed as he pulled away from Ronon's touch.

"Need to..." he started, but instead of finishing his explanation, he simply leaned over and engaged the autopilot, thanking every deity he knew not to be a Goa'uld that this was just empty space and that no Wraith had picked today to set a trap here.

He could hear Ronon breathe next to him, could hear the rustle of clothes, and he wasn't surprised when he felt Ronon's hands on his hips, steadying him and helping him keep his balance. 

"I want to see you," Ronon said and pushed both hands upwards, taking handfuls of cotton with him, dragging it up.

John managed a quick smile as he quickly wriggled out of his vest and tugged his shirt over his head. Both fell unnoticed to the ground while Ronon's teeth already found a nipple and tugged playfully.

Sparks of sensation shot through John, despite the fact that his nipples had never been that much of an erogenous zone for him. His dick felt fully hard by now, and he arched his back and pressed his chest into Ronon's touch while, at the same time, wrapping one hand in Ronon's shirt and tugging in a silent order to take it off.

Later, he couldn't exactly tell how they had ended up naked. Ronon had kissed him, again and again, until they both were breathless and John's lips felt tingly and tender. Eventually, they had gotten to their feet and Ronon had pressed him against the cold wall of the jumper, one hand in his pants and the other on his shoulder. He remembered the sight of Ronon naked, kneeling in front of him, powerful muscles playing under his skin as he licked and kissed John's lower stomach, the crease of his thigh and hip and finally, when John wasn't sure he would be able to stand even more, his dick.

Ronon stopped exactly when John thought he couldn't stand a single second longer of it, when the wet heat and the pressure of his mouth and the tightness of his throat around the tip of his cock became almost enough to let him come, and John didn't exactly care about the whine he couldn't hold back and that would embarrass him any other time. 

Instead of letting him come, Ronon pushed him until he was facing the wall, still shocking cold against his overheated, sweaty face. Moments later, Ronon's knee nudged John's feet apart and his hands kneaded John's ass.

He didn't know where the lube came from, but he felt the exact second Ronon slid one of his fingers into him, slow and steady, but relentless, not allowing John more than to wriggle slightly. It felt big, John thought dazedly, and it burned a little, but instead of making him want to stop, it only made him want to spread his legs wider and get more.

He was pretty sure that he would analyse his own behavior to death and end up thinking in circles again, but for now, he managed to push it away and just focus on feeling - the slick slide of Ronon's finger, then fingers, into his ass, the burn and stretch and the feeling of fullness, the lube between his ass cheeks and his thighs, a single drop of sweat running along the hollow of the back of his knee and tickling him while Ronon bit at his shoulder and twisted two of his fingers into John's willing body. 

His entire body was covered in sweat despite the air conditioning in the Jumper, goosebumps had broken out across his forearms where they were resting against the ship's hull, and his dick was hard and throbbing.

When Ronon's teeth closed around the back of his neck, it was like a shock to his system, pulling him out of the aroused daze he'd fallen into.

"Ready?" Ronon asked, and when John nodded and pushed back slightly against the fingers playing with the rim of his ass, Ronon growled and pulled him back to the copilot's chair.

"What are you doing?" John asked when he sat back down, and for a moment, he was surprised by his own voice. It was rough and scratchy, as if he'd screamed for hours, and John couldn't bring himself to care.

Ronon grinned at him and pulled him into his lap again. His fingers dug into the flesh of his ass, massaging for a moment before lifting him up. The muscles in his arms bulged under John's hands, and John's nails bit into the warm skin for a moment before he realized that Ronon was perfectly capable of balancing him over his dick, holding him up and rubbing the slick tip of his dick against John's ass at the same time.

"I could use a hand," Ronon growled into John's sweaty neck. His voice sounded as wrecked as John's had. "Put it in."

With some difficulty, John reached underneath himself and wrapped his fingers around Ronon's stiff length. It took some fumbling, but finally, he managed to guide the tip where he needed it to go, and Ronon lowered him down, his fingertips still biting sharply into John's ass and providing him with something to focus on while the stretch of his cock in John's ass, the slow but unrelenting, steady slide that felt as if it was spreading him wider than anyone else had ever done, felt as if it was too much, too fast.

He was only vaguely aware of the fact that he was panting, his ribcage moving rapidly as he tried to get enough air into his lungs, and then, Ronon was kissing him again, kissing him breathless and sliding even deeper into him, forcing him to take it and groaning brokenly into John's mouth while John's own dick was pressed between them and smearing clear fluid against Ronon's abs.

It was too much. It was too hot and too wide open and John was sure that something was going to give, and not in a good way, any second now. He pressed his forehead against Ronon's shoulder and focused on relaxing, on letting Ronon slide deeper and deeper into him, knowing the dimensions of Ronon's dick and enjoying the way it rubbed against all the interesting places inside him. It was too much and not enough, and he shifted as much as he could while Ronon was still controlling his descent, trying to hit the spot that would make fireworks explode behind his closed eyes.

Ronon chuckled, his breath hot against John's face, and allowed him a moment to get used to the sensations, to the thick cock in him and to Ronon's mouth back on him, and then, he wrapped his arms around him and lifted him.

Gravity brought him back down, the slide just as slick as the first one but faster, and John put his heels on the armrests of the chair and tried to help the descent.

He didn't know how, but they managed to establish a rhythm that they both liked, not too fast, hitting just the right spots on every downstroke. John's erection rubbed against Ronon's stomach muscles with every push of his legs, and he wrapped both arms around Ronon's shoulders and panted into his neck, all his attention focused on Ronon's cock in him. He barely noticed the sharp staccato of his heart in his chest, the slide of sweat down the length of his spine, the burn of muscles in his thighs. All that counted was the arousal coiling tight in him, his balls pulling up and his mind focusing on chasing his orgasm.

"Touch yourself," Ronon growled, his lips cool and moist against the red, overheated shell of John's ear, and John didn't even stop to think about what he was doing. He wrapped a hand around his dick, smooth and hot, the other one around Ronon's neck, and fell into the next kiss with the kind of wild abandon he'd never thought possible for himself on Atlantis.

He'd lost all sense of timing, but he knew that it wouldn't take him long to come, and he did so with an almost desperate intensity, only to be moved out of his slump by Ronon's wide hands again. Ronon's eyes were wild and unfocused, but his grip was unfailing as he moved John on his cock, pressing him down and tugging him upwards, until he came, his teeth clenched tight, his head thrown back and with John in his lap.

Afterwards, they stayed right where they were, John curled into a ball on top of Ronon's chest, drawing random patterns onto Ronon's skin with his fingers. Ronon was petting his spine with long, slow strokes of a broad palm, his lips pressed against John's temple.

Finally, they managed to pull apart, John grimacing at the mess and the soreness in his ass that he wasn't used to and that made itself known with every move.

"Well?" Ronon mumbled and kissed his temple briefly. "You think this is okay?"

John exhaled slowly. His thoughts were slowing, his body relaxing under Ronon's touch, and he felt ready for a nap.

What he didn't feel was panic, and he took that as a good sign for now. 

"Yeah," he murmured and settled himself more firmly against Ronon's chest. "For now, it is."

Later, they could figure something out, could find new rules and regulations that worked for them and that made sure they were both safe, but for now, they had hours of empty space ahead of them.


End file.
